


Furious Hearts

by ZorialDiamond



Series: Tales of the Heart [5]
Category: Runescape
Genre: Abuse warning, Angst, Gen, blood/gore warning, but srs I've watched the Tales cutscenes like 14 times over, headcanons ahoy, so much GWD2 spam, trippy poison induced hallucinations again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 18:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12086853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZorialDiamond/pseuds/ZorialDiamond
Summary: Loss leaves a gaping wound in the heart. Not mended, there is nothing left to fill it but darkness.





	Furious Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, I don't know what compelled me to write this (probably because Greg), but here we are. A chronicle of the third Fury (whom I called Mysanius)'s demise, with added headcanon and several OCs, and of course Greg at his most monstrous. Turn back now if you don't want to see something messy. That being said, I think this is one of my best fics yet, and I certainly got feels while writing it. Greg may be my main thing, but I love me some Furygals too!

How many years had passed since that fateful day? How many decades since that dreadful night? Though the moon was bright, memory would cast it as an eve of utter darkness. For their sister, their queen, was stolen from them by a beast.

 

A beast like a spider, with spindly limbs. He must have creeped up on her while they were sleeping, for nothing else seemed to make sense. His venom had filled her and left her as nothing. No, worse than nothing. That beautiful one was made nothing more than sustenance for that dark one. Though he now had a macabre form, whispers told he was once merely a human. To be slain by such an ugly one, one like the forms they adopted to terrorize their foes, perhaps cut more deeply than it would otherwise.

 

Mysanius. 

 

It had been long enough that what she actually was had been elevated to something of a demigod in their eyes. She was as beautiful and dark as a starry night, luminous as the midday sun. Calm and radiant, with a gentle voice of peace, yet armed with the fire of Zamorak to consume those who betrayed their vows. She had been the greatest among them when they were mercenaries for the Empty Lord, and still the greatest among them when the Lord of Chaos led their kind to greater heights. 

 

Oh, how they had fought together, a trifecta of terror and grace. How Nymora remembered raining down thorns like a rain of death upon their enemies. Of course, she would leave space for Avaryss’s great speed, her keen blades tearing the oathbreakers apart. But should they escape the duo, she would lead them in judging the false ones with the fire of Infernus itself. None escaped. All quivered in fear of defying Zamorak, lest these descend upon them and tear them apart. 

 

But if they were not feared, they were loved. Yes, it was not only Infernus’s fire they commanded, but also the love of many other Avernic and those like them. They watched many turn from mere dregs to being themselves fearsome demons. Even the mere scraggly dogs seemed to become vicious hounds of war as they followed after them. These as well had become their justiciars, a veritable army they won by force of will. Under Zaros they were merely one battalion among many. But under Zamorak, they were his very hands rendering judgment. Humans as well seemed to be entranced by the force of their presence, either gravitating towards their side or having nightmares of them descending upon them to rip them to pieces and burn their very essence to ash.

 

Yes...those memories were dear in their hearts, the two sisters that were left. Golden rays of good days long gone by.  Now still,  the blessings they encountered seemed to carry a knife for their hearts. For every victory, every step up the ranks together was now a reminder it could never be with their third Sister again.

 

The Faceless One. Gregorovic, they would learn he was called.

 

That eerie, pale, almost featureless mask now flashed across their minds. His laugh mocked them. And his terrible spinning blades seemed to carve out the core of their hearts. The memories of the golden days seemed to be faint and blurry and all fade together. Yet the darkest moment of their lives was remembered in stark, excruciating detail.

 

But that night did not start with such a gloomy mood.

 

“My dear sisters, Nymora and Avaryss, once again we have prevailed in sniffing out the traitors to our lord. Here seems to be a good place to rest.” A demoness, gold and adorned with orange stones and razor-like wings like the radiant fire of the sun, scoped out a clearing in the north of Morytania _.  _ The horns on her head seemed to frame it like a crown, as did her locks that streamed out from under them like a sunburst. Clad over her form was armor well crafted for agility and speed, and bearing her lord’s emblem close to her heart.

 

“Yes, this will serve us well, Mysanius my sister.” Another demoness like her, only with graceful salmons and ruby red coloring her body, ebony black locks, and fire in her eyes joined her. She laughed a bit in joy.

 

“The three of us together will serve Zamorak forever!” Another beautiful icy blue winged demoness with silvery hair, stones like sapphires joined in the laughter. More of the finely-crafted armor adorned both forms and proclaimed their loyalty.The latter two of these seemed to be mirror images of one another; together the three stood as a work of art as much as they did a force in battle.

 

“Rest as much as you like, my queens. I will guard you with my very life.” The one that spoke was a towering demon, his verdant, muscular, and frighteningly spiked body accented with bulky armor and blades reminiscent of the ones he devoted himself to serving. Nearby him growled and barked a fiery-furred and similarly armored hellhound that stood as tall, if not taller than a man. This one seemed to echo the demon’s sentiment. The three demon sisters sat together in the clearing, the moonlight reflecting off them.

 

“The summer air is lovely, but I would prefer a bit more heat.” Nymora commented, glancing toward Mysanius.

 

“Ah, yes, but I would rather not alert too many to our presence. We know not what other conspirators might seek to destroy us for our given lot.” The eldest Fury replied. “There is ample wood and stone around us. A small fire shall suffice.”

 

“Then let us gather it and keep the fire within our hearts alight!” Avaryss remarked, laughing heartily. Her and Nymora rose, eyeing some already dying trees. With a swift swipe of their wings, the trunk of one dying tree, and then another, came tumbling to the ground, scattering some dust and splinters in its wake. A few more precise swipes cut the logs down into manageable pieces, and soon both of them returned with armfuls of wood. Mysanius had arranged a ring of small stones around a patch of dry earth, and the sisters together arranged the logs in the shape of a tent.

 

“Let us remember the fire we were born from, and the fire of chaos that gives us our strength. Praise Zamorak!” The sunlike fury proclaimed with a calm yet powerful voice as fire sprung from her palms and caused the logs to roar to life with towering orange flames, wisps of embers and smoke rising into the sky.

 

“Praise Zamorak indeed!” Her sisters echoed in twain. 

 

“I, Arasthrus, shall never desert him or you, my queens!” The demon who guarded them proclaimed.

 

“You do well in ripping the oathbreakers apart, Fieren.” Nymora said, scratching the hellhound behind the ears. She yipped in response, then licking the demoness. The others joined in to give affection to the otherwise quite ferocious one. The hellhound gave a friendly growl before getting up and resuming her post. 

 

The Furies conversed together, laughing among themselves and enjoying the flames as the moon charted its course across the sky of the deep night. The fire died down, leaving nothing but ash in its wake. 

 

“Now that we have rested our spirits, we should rest our bodies as well, sisters.” Mysanius suggested.

 

“I concur. Fieren, alert us if there is any trouble.” Nymora commanded, and the hellhound yipped happily.

 

“Show them no mercy, Arasthrus!” Avaryss laughed, and the lieutenant bowed himself somewhat, his voice reverent.

 

“Do not feel pressured, my queens. Take as long as you need.” 

 

“So we shall. Good night.” With this, Mysanius laid down, and Nymora and Avaryss flanked their sides. They held out their wings over one another, shielding each other and being ready to strike if some foe should awaken them. And so with the comfort of their guard, the the three Furies rested. As the commotion quieted, the nocturnal birds resumed their song. 

 

But all was not well. Meanwhile, some distance away, a predator concealed his presence with their sounds and with the brush. His tongue snaked out between his needle like teeth as he smelled his prey. There were five powerful presences nearby, their auras wafting into what passed for a nose. Yes, even just one of them would be a fine feast. There was just the matter of separating out one from the rest so it was not he who would fall prey.

 

Luckily for him, he was not alone.

 

Another was with him. A seemingly ordinary man, save for the deathly pallor and the inhuman claws surrounded by a shadowy miasma. He gripped a bow in his hand, forged from the leg of some long-dead arachnoid monster.  While he was decked head to toe with the masks and the seemingly over-the-top fashion of their master’s  whims, yet there was one rusted Saradominist star that remained of who he once was.

 

“Ahehehe, my son, my blood, I believe tonight will be rather nostalgic for you. For I smell the fire of demons.” The mannequin laughed, smiling slightly as the thought of the hunt, the kill, of the hunger that would soon be sated, filled his mind.

 

“Demons….” The man remarked, tightening his grip on his bow. “I believe I can handle that.”

 

Now as he focused he could sense the presences - five of them, each immensely powerful. 

 

“I sense….five of them? What is this?” For a moment, the hunter was frightful. 

 

“Ahehehe, you need not fear. We will split the group, and I will take the best as my meal.” As the monster focused, suddenly there were three others with them, each a shadowy copy of the blade wielding terror. One possessed an angry glare etched in a crimson red glow, one displayed a manic grin in gleaming yellow, the last an almost dizzy face in a springlike green. Whatever these were, forged of the shadow infused in the mannequin at his rebirth, the hunter suspected they were living shadows of the madness in his mind.

 

“You need only distract one. I can handle the other three just as well...and then the last is mine. We shall let the night sparrows cover our approach, Silvarius my blood.” A shing, and the unclicking of blades. Silvarius held his bow at the ready; even if he had not willed it, the strings that bound him would have brought him to attention anyhow.

 

Suddenly, however, the shadows were gone, having scattered themselves around the small grove of trees. They spied out the demons in question. Three were resting; two, a hellhound and another demon, were standing guard. However, it was the one at the center of the resting three, a demoness gold like the shining sun, that made the yellow shadow lick its nonexistent lips the most.

 

_ He shall feast on this one tonight.  _

 

They oriented themselves. The angry shadow set its sights on the reddish-pink demoness; the delirious green the pale blue, and finally the yellow on the hellhound. Meanwhile, the monster himself pointed the hunter towards the brutal demon who stood guard as his mark, while venom dripped like saliva from the opening on his mask.

 

The birds of the night continued their song.

 

However, despite the continued singing, Fieren began to growl, catching glimpses of the gathering unnatural shadows.

 

“Hmmm? Do you sense something?” Arasthrus glanced over to the hellhound, who was snorting and growling in the direction of one of the trees. However, Fieren then looked confused. The feeling seemed to have gone as soon as it came. The canine lieutenant scampered around frantically, looking like a ball of fire dashing to and fro. Now the Avernic lieutenant likewise was on the alert. 

 

From the shadows, a smile. 

 

_ “Go.”  _

 

A shadow dashed by. Fieren caught sight of it, barked and growled loudly in warning and dashed off after it, fire being scattered in the hellhound’s wake. She caught up with it, then leaping at the copy of the monster who had set his sights on their mistresses, Gregorovic.

 

“Someone is after us.” Arasthrus bellowed, drawing his blades. “SHOW YOURSELF, COWARD!”   
  
An arrow embedded itself in the Avernic’s shoulder. He roared in pain. In response to the voices of their alerted lieutenants, the Three Furies began to rise.

  
  


“THERE YOU ARE! YOU WILL BE DESTROYED LIKE THE TRAITORS OF ZAMORAK!” Arasthrus bellowed, as suddenly Silvarius appeared before him. Not missing a beat, the demon raised himself on his wings before slamming a blade down into the ground where the wight was only moments earlier. Having rolled out of the way, he nocked another arrow forged out of shadow, and let it fly into one of his mark’s arms. While it missed, the rage of the lieutenant rose. He looked about frantically for him, and moved to charge again upon sighting him before getting struck in the other arm. 

 

This one seemed to be fast and swift like Avaryss his queen. But, they would not be outdone. They couldn’t be.

 

As Arasthrus and Silvarius continued their dance of battle within the clearing, Firien looked about confusedly. The stink of shadow was all around her. Now and again, the one would appear, and she would charge, only for it to disappear into the surrounding darkness once again.  

 

Nymora felt a nick on her shoulder, as did Avaryss. They stirred, seeing a shadow of a man before her. They rose; the crimson Fury let a thorn fire at one, while the pale blue Fury’s left wing lanced out at the other. A mild burning sensation filled them, and their vision became a bit fuzzy; however, still they pursued their shadowy assailants.

 

However, the final golden Fury only fully rose after she’d been struck not by a shadowy blade, but by a metal one. A burning sensation started at the wound, and started to fill her as the world blurred around her. 

 

It was the throne of the Empty Lord. It was Infernus. Zamorak was preaching freedom as the flames leapt higher. He believed in them. Believed they were far greater than they were treated either on their home plane or in the Empire. Zaros only cared about himself, he preached. His Legatus Maximus, he truly cared and saw their potential. He could see… see what their former master could not.

 

But then he appeared. The Empty Lord, surrounded by darkness and the power of the ancient elements. He wielded a staff emblazoned with his emblem, and eyed his Legatus Maximus with scorn. In one swift moment, Zamorak was impaled, and the shadow closed around him. Her sisters clinged to her in fear, and her eyes went wide.Then, with a wave of his hands, the elements descended on them. Some were consumed in smoke, others had blood leak from their eyes as they seemed to come apart. Some were frozen in ice; it seemed that shadow was the means by which he would ensure their doom.

 

Meanwhile, within the clearing, Arasthrus roared and took to the skies, the deadly jagged blades on his arms poised to rip the wight apart. Silvarius cringed. This demon seemed to be an equal match, and far more mobile than he. He descended, a titan against the backdrop of the moon. He had only moments to react. 

 

Memories flashed back. So many undead had been repelled with the power of a weapon he kept hidden for dire moments like this. Surely demons were no different. Some of the holy, purifying fire of his true lord would solve this, he reasoned. With a swift motion, he drew forth some runes from a pouch concealed by his cloak with his free claw. Clutching tight and aiming for the dominant wing, he let the spell fly.

 

Arasthrus could not stop his motion in time. The fireball connected; the Avernic screamed and tumbled to the ground with a great thud. It was as if the fire that served them so well had been turned against him, and was now starting to rip him apart, starting with his wing. Yet even his screams were profitable for warning.

 

“No….this can’t be…. MY QUEENS, THEY COME-” 

 

Silvarius then glanced to the trees, and his eyes went wide with terror. He dropped his bow in utter shock as his hands gravitated towards his mouth and a shiver went up his spine.

 

There he was. His ancestral father, descending upon a frozen golden demoness with his jaws open wide.

 

“Nymora...Avaryss...My sisters...I am sorry…,” she spoke, with a mournful and beautiful voice.

 

_ Sisters. _

 

Perhaps it had never occurred to the former hunter before that day that demons had family too.

 

Then, the jaws closed. More poison filled the demoness and started to make that golden flesh atrophy with a shadowy goop. His stomach turned, and he stood frozen. Ripping. Clawing. Ichor scattered on the formerly pristine summer grass. Armor falling away with blood and ash. But far more terrifying was the manic joy that seemed to fill Gregorovic as he devoured with gruesome abandon. His stomach turned, and despite lacking the same stomach as his living self, he nonetheless could not stop the reflex of retching. He covered his eyes, shaking at the horror before him.

 

When the sounds had  a brief reprieve, he removed his claws. Nothing more than armor, stained with blood and ash, and the mannequin licking the ichor and ash off his mask, giggling with manic delight. However, as the sisters that remained, as the hellhound and the demon observed the scene, they wailed with mourning and anger. Gregorovic disappeared from atop Mysanius’s remains, and appeared near the hunter. Body still stained with the remains as well, he gripped the now catatonic Silvarius, and disappeared into the shadows.

 

Fieren, now having lost the scent of the putrid monster and his spawn, then walked up to what remained of one of his queens. She pawed at the armor, smelling it and whimpering. Soon, Avaryss and Nymora together approached the scene. Arasthrus glanced at it from afar, still in pain from the holy fire that had taken his wing and severely damaged the other.

 

“I...I am sorry...I failed you….” he uttered, his voice tinged with pain.

 

“S-sister? Is this real?” Avaryss remarked, observing the remains with utter shock and sadness in her voice.

 

“No, it can’t be...she is the strongest among us. She couldn’t….” Nymora echoed her sister’s shock. As Gregorovic’s poison began to wear off, their vision cleared. It wasn’t an illusion. All that remained was ash, blood, her armor, and their memories.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

When the shadow faded, the shadow-infused wights were once again in the dark crypt of the Barrows. Gregorovic let go of Silvarius, and licked the blood and ash off his claws before then patting the younger wight’s hair and running his claws through it, mask cracked open ever so slightly.

 

Silvarius could feel a difference in the aura he was giving off. As he looked closely, he saw an aura of intense shadow gather around him. He could feel it. He smelled of death. And realized precisely why he had done what he did.

 

“You have done well this day, my son, my blood. Because of your help, I grow stronger still. And you have helped quell threats as you used to do, have you not?” He spoke warmly, affectionately. The former hunter shrunk away, shock still filling his eyes.

 

“They...They were…” Her final words...the face on the demoness as she was devoured flashed into his mind.

 

“No one you should be concerned about, Silvarius.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the centuries, the once great Furies faltered. One missing, there was a void now that no amount of effort could fill. They still had the fire their bodies generated, but it could not make up for her majestic flames. They still hunted oathbreakers with zeal, yet now was the memory that the greatest of them would never join them again. Perhaps it had made them more sloppy. 

 

Especially now since the burning desire for vengeance had crept into the empty space in their hearts. But it was not rage that helped them destroy the oathbreakers. No, it was death to the Faceless One they now desired, that plagued their thoughts day and night. Even those loyal who did not see it felt the loss, and too became consumed with their rage.

 

And despite their lord’s return as the Sixth Age dawned, still the hole and the burning sense of injustice remained. They protested. Yet their lord did not seem to hear them.

 

“We are empty without our sister - we must avenge her.”

**Author's Note:**

> Relevant art:  
> [ A picture of the third Sister's demise by Magenixy that inspired the setting](https://imgur.com/EdyBOiL%20)  
> Some of my own art about/involving the third Sister:  
> [First attempt at a design](http://zorialdiamond-blog.tumblr.com/post/162150318376/all-the-third-fury-speculations-ive-personally)  
> [The Sisters as mercenaries](http://zorialdiamond-blog.tumblr.com/post/162411629101/wellp-i-have-some-new-fury-headcanons-namely)  
> [A sketchscribble](http://zorialdiamond-blog.tumblr.com/post/165779961311/tfw-you-dont-have-energy-for-comics-but-still)  
> [Lineart](http://zorialdiamond-blog.tumblr.com/post/166516004066/working-on-making-a-colored-version-of-this-but)  
> [Color](http://zorialdiamond-blog.tumblr.com/post/167351453606/some-art-for-you-all-since-i-havent-posted-in-a)  
> [ Arasthrus art (as well as some of my other lieutenant OC's that I'll hopefully get around to ficcing](http://zorialdiamond-blog.tumblr.com/post/162908406501/the-gwd2-lieutenant-oc-series-is-over-man-i-grew)
> 
> Man, this one hurt to write and I cried during it (it ain't easy to make a bunch of headcanons for a character you later messily kill) but I still think it's one of my best. A lotta stuff from the previous GWD2/Ivanov Curse fics culminates here. I debated including this one but I included it due to the quality and because it shows just how far reaching the effects of the curse really are. Originally I was just going to show Silvy's reaction to Mysanius's death, but I got carried away and described all the gory details, lol. You know you're a monster when you can make a Saradominist feel sick to their stomach about the death of a demon. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and feel free to leave feedback as always!
> 
> ~soli deo gloria~


End file.
